This Scorching Earth Read Free

friends together.
    "Oh, please do invite him, Mrs. Odawara," she said, turning around in her seat.
    Her companion looked at her, slightly startled. "I intended to."
    Contented, Sonoko looked at the other passengers. A large farm woman with fat red hands sat opposite her, leaning forward, a large bundle of vegetables on her back. Mixed in with the vegetables was a child who, from time to time, peered through the radishes at Sonoko. Beside the seat there stood a disabled soldier, all in white, wearing his field cap and holding a crutch, his other hand on the luggage rack. His long hair was beautifully parted, and from where she sat Sonoko could smell the pomade. Near him stood several businessmen, briefcases in hand. They were noisily discussing some contract or other. They were not arguing, but were only engaged in a typical business conversation, banging their briefcases emphatically on the other passengers. Beyond them Sonoko could see yet more passengers, standing and sitting. There was room for no more. She occasionally glimpsed the car behind, the Allied Forces car, completely empty.
    Sonoko did not question this fact any more than did the rest of the passengers or, for that matter, the rest of Japan. It was well and fitting that the Allied car should remain empty if there were no Allied soldiers or civilians to ride in it. The Japanese, after all, should not expect to ride in the Allied car—except the girls with the Allied soldiers, but then they really didn't count. Just as it was perfectly natural that the sidewalk snack-bar of the PX in the Hattori Building at Tokyo's busiest crossing should sell Coca-Cola and popcorn and hot dogs to the soldiers and that the little street children clustering round should get none. This was as it was and as it should be.
    It never failed to delight and amuse Sonoko that truly democratic people, like Miss Wilson, should think differently. It was admirable of them, but also very amusing. Quixotic was the word she wanted, but she'd not read far in Western literature. If Sonoko had ever consciously thought about it, she would have freely admitted to herself that, had the war ended differently and were she a colonel's secretary in New York, she would think nothing of the Japanese Army's eating sushi and tempura in front of Macy's while the little children from the Bronx and Brooklyn got none. But Miss Wilson bad been much upset and called the Hat-tori snack-bar an atrocity. When Sonoko had finally understood the word—it was the same word the Occupation-controlled papers used in speaking of the rape of Nanking—it had seemed so irresistably funny, applied as Miss Wilson applied it, that she'd giggled about it all day long. Miss Wilson was just like that proverbial American she'd heard of who possessed a heart of pure gold.
    Her reveries were interrupted by Mrs. Odawara, who had also been thinking.
    "We must have a Bible reading," Mrs. Odawara said suddenly but resolutely.
    Sonoko closed her eyes, stricken. Mrs. Odawara was progressive and therefore Christian.
    "Of course we must," continued Mrs. Odawara reasonably. "It's Sunday, isn't it?"
    "Yes, but..."
    "You're not suggesting that the American lady isn't Christian?" She made it sound rather horrible. "And she is coming out early, isn't she?"
    "Well, in the morning."
    "Just so. She won't have had time to go to church, and so we can hold a reading. Perhaps even a little prayer meeting too. Oh, she'll like it. It will be just like home—Sunday morning and so forth. I know their ways, these Americans.... Let me see—why, I believe I have a large colored picture of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, and we can put it up in the tokonoma."
    "But—she's the guest of honor," said Sonoko faintly. As such she would have her back to the tokonoma—the small alcove which had already been most carefully arranged with their finest scroll-picture and the most subtle arrangement of autumnal flowers—and would consequently